


I truly do appreciate it. When you do as you’re told.

by WeNeedARuse



Series: When it's like this. [10]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Arthur, Desperation, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, Kinda just sex really, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn, Porn With Plot, Sex, established relationship porn, incredibly in control dutch, shaky arthur, top Dutch, vandermorgan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 08:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: "Because, like thisDutch wants him pliant, and trusting, and willing, and wanting.And Arthur never, ever has to pretend at that."I said the next part wouldn't be long coming...Also, I'll be honest. It's just sex.





	I truly do appreciate it. When you do as you’re told.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.  
> So.  
> This one...
> 
> Well. I figured 10 was a good place to end this series. 10 one shots when I thought I would only ever write one :) So I thought I'd put the notes here and do a little explanation.
> 
> It's all my fault! I wrote myself into a corner by setting this all too late in the game, and I do not have the skills to write them navigate this relationship at the time when the world falls down around them. So this part is ended.
> 
> However.
> 
> I've enjoyed writing these so much. Like, you have no idea how much, and I really, really want to explore this relationship more so I was debating doing other one-shots possibly. Prequels, from maybe even before the game, or Horseshoe Overlook etc and I’m hoping you guys would like that. Let me know here or come chat to me on tumblr (@weneedaruse) if you want :) I'm open to comments, suggestions, ritual sacrifice, tiny little pictures of Dutch dancing...
> 
> And as always, thank you for all your comments and kudos. And the love you've brought this little collection. It has made me beyond happy. And any more is always (I say cheekily) appreciated :)
> 
> Please enjoy this last installment. I thought I'd go out with a bang (so to speak) so...yeah...I had a lot of fun with this one...

He lays on his side, naked beneath the covers, letting drowsiness spill over him as he waits. For him. The room is almost pitch black, makeshift curtains tacked over the broken window and the only light coming through is from the moon shining through the doors.

And he comes like a thief.

Silent and dark.

The rustle of clothing then is almost too loud and Arthur wants to prop himself up, watch the show. But he knows not to, not now, not when it’s like this. 

Because, like this

Dutch wants him pliant, and trusting, and willing, and wanting.

And Arthur never, ever has to pretend at that.

Closer still and he can make out the shape of him, lean and strong. Closer, dipping his fingers in the oil at the bedside without preamble and pressing them inside in one long slide. 

Arthur presses his face into his forearm, feels his body go rigid with want at the simple touch. Opens his eyes and wets his lips.

Tries not to push back at the touch.

Tries not to groan when the fingers are taken away.

Dutch hums low in this throat, pushing Arthur onto his back. He moves over him, spreading his legs with one hand, settles in-between and reaches down. Slick cock, hot and hard and so welcome, slides in with no pain, no stretch. Dutch smiles wide. 

“Arthur, my boy,” 

Dutch’s palms pressed tight to the insides of Arthurs thighs, spreading them for him, flat to the bed, the touch burning.

As Arthur watches him watch himself sink into him.

There’s reverence in his gaze

“I truly do appreciate.”

A moan. Him or Dutch. He doesn’t know. 

“When you do as you’re told.” 

Arthur thinks it was worth it. Waiting and thinking about what the night would bring. The sweet torture of it. Worth it for the look on Dutch’s face right now.

Filled. Fully. Finally. 

He waits.

“Did you come?” Dutch isn’t moving, seemingly content to sit inside him and converse. Arthur groans, drops his head back against his pillow and nods.

“Once, almost more than once.” He looks up, winces at the look. “Ain’t my fault, Dutch.” 

And then

He’s over him

Braced on taut arms either side of Arthur’s head.

“You’re ahead of me then.” He thrusts, once, deep and Arthur feels it throughout his whole body. He reaches up, fingers clenching when he thrusts again, harder this time. “You can’t touch yourself. You come from this, my dear boy, or not at all.”

So. It’s like this.

Arthur nods.

And hides his smile.

Because like this,

Dutch has set himself a challenge.

And then,

Then he doesn’t think for a while. Because Dutch is fucking him. Slow, measured, deep thrusts. Controlled and contained. Rolling hips and a wicked smile. Watching himself sink into him over and over again.

Intense. 

Bowed over, his hair wet with sweat in the sweltering southern night. It curls more like this, over his brow and temples. Arthur wants to reach up and touch it but his hands are being held above his head and his body is on fire.

Harder now. The slick sound of skin on skin. Dutch’s low sounds a sharp contrast with Arthurs gasps. Hands no longer bound but free as his to grip, and tear, and rend.

And Arthur gives everything he can to the moment. 

And he takes what he’s given.

Drinks it all in.

Dutch’s profile in the dark. The hollow of his throat. The sweat at his temples and the scratches on his side. The bruises Arthur has from his hands on him.

At his chest, at his shoulders, at his throat…

Face to face.

His preferred fuck.

And Dutch is looking at him. Eating him down. Devouring. His gaze unwavering, as controlled as his thrusts. Arthur feels himself close in on orgasm, sooner than he expected, sooner than he wanted.

Dutch’s fingers are in his hair, pulling roughly at the strands, arching his head back.  
And out of nowhere Arthur hears himself whisper

“I feel like there’s a storm coming.” He doesn’t know why he says it, only that it’s true. Doesn’t even know if he’s talking about a real storm, the one inside him, or the other one. 

Dutch doesn’t falter.

“We’re just standing in its way. We’re gonna get knocked down, one by one…”

“You think a storm can take me down?” Dutch laughs and Arthur wraps his arms around his shoulders.

Holds on. 

Tight.

So he won’t be ripped away.

Then Dutch’s hand is on his collarbone, his fingers on his throat and his thrusts have slowed to a barely there pressure. Slow, slow thrusts to tease, not pleasure.

To provoke.

Arthur wants to kiss him more than he’s ever wanted to.

But they don’t really do that.

Not when it’s like this.

Too much, too much, too much.

It’s the night for words never spoken in the light.

“You’ll be the death of me, Arthur.”

Whispered. Before, before...

Dutch is pressing deep, lips a tight line, like he can erase his words. And Arthur hitches his legs higher, until he’s almost curled in half, until it hurts and he hears the scrape of the bed frame on the floor but he can’t find it in himself to care any more because he’s almost, almost there and Dutch is teetering on the edge and watching Dutch orgasm is always such masterclass in self control that he doesn’t want to close his eyes to it, doesn’t want to lose himself…

And then Dutch stops.

Fucking stops.

Leans over to press a kiss to Arthurs forehead and slows right back down again. 

Delayed and delayed and delayed. Arthur's whole body screaming at the interruption.

Arthur presses his hands to his face and screams into them.

Dutch laughs, deep and resonant and cruel and lovely.

It’s too much. Too much.

He’s shaky and weak and desperate. He wants to beg but he can’t find his voice. He reaches out, brushes past his own aching cock, down and down until he can feel Dutch inside him. The slick hardness of him against his fingers.

And Dutch makes a sound he’s never heard before.

A second, a beat, and then the heat is ripped away and Dutch is pulling out, coming hard and hot and scalding onto Arthurs chest and stomach, head bowed, spitting out curses under his breath.

The smallest loss of control.

But it warms Arthurs soul.

Silence.

Then Dutch looks up, eyes wild, body heaving with the aftershocks of orgasm. 

In all of this. In all of their times together.

Dutch still does like to be surprised.

Arthur laughs, a little deranged, a little desperate. He drops his legs flat to the bed and reaches down to touch his fingers to the come staining his stomach.

“I’ll have to wash now.” 

It happens before he even knows it.

Dutch’s fingers inside him again, fucking him, slick with his own come. His eyes on his.

And Arthur loses control. 

But that doesn’t matter to him. 

He always does.

 

***

 

It takes longer than he expected it to to recover. Dutch is already dressed and stood by the double doors, looking over his photos when Arthur gathers the energy to tug his pants on, run his fingers through his hair.

“Are you feeling well, Arthur?” He looks up at that, but Dutch is turned away from him now. So that he’s just a silhouette in the dark again.

“Mm, fine.”

“You’re looking...thinner. Paler. Hosea would say peaky.” 

“Well, you just fucked my insides out. Tends to drain a man.” 

“Don’t be crude Arthur.” He laughs at that. He laughs because of what they’ve just done, what they’ve been doing for years, and he thinks that’s crude. He laughs and reaches for a cigarette.  


Coughs.

“I’m fine. Honestly.” He smokes in the silence that ensues and wonders why Dutch isn’t leaving. Recently, since the gang grew and grew and grew, they spend less time together afterwards. Especially if they’re in camp.

“It’s a fine night, come with me. Out on the balcony. I have whisky.” Arthur stubs his cigarette out and tries not to look too eager. Instead, he gives Dutch what he expects.

“I don’t think I can move Dutch.” 

He turns, shakes his head at him and opens the doors.

“With me, Mr Morgan. Up.” Arthur hides the simple joy in his heart as he follows Dutch through his own rooms and onto the balcony. Hides it but holds it close as he watches Dutch sit down and prop his feet up on the railing. 

“It’s a stinking, alligator infested hell on earth but it does have some good points. That moon for one...” Arthur joins him, taking a swig of whisky and mirroring Dutch’s position. He leans his head against the back of the chair and watches Dutch light a cigar. The moonlight catches off the gold in his rings.

He smiles, despite the ache in his body.

Because when it’s like this.

When it’s just the two of them.

Sated and spent, well...


End file.
